


Two Roads Diverged

by Andeincascade (Ande)



Category: due South
Genre: Canada, M/M, Pre-Canon, young Benton Fraser
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-23
Updated: 2010-12-23
Packaged: 2017-10-14 00:40:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/143421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ande/pseuds/Andeincascade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Benton Fraser is at a crossroad with an old friend.</p><p>Warning:  mention of pre-story underage relationship between peers</p>
            </blockquote>





	Two Roads Diverged

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Luzula](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luzula/gifts).



> Merry Christmas to my beloved Luzula! I had a dozen stories I wanted to tell you. This is the one that got written. Much love and all good wishes for the New Year.

Two Roads Diverged

“More tea, Benton?”  


Benton Fraser was shaken from his reverie by Mark’s mother bearing a thermal carafe and a proud smile. The party in Ingamo Hall was in full swing around him; all of Inuvik turned out to celebrate one of their own being drafted into the NHL. The center of all this attention was Mark; Mark, whose four years hard skating down in Moose Jaw had attracted increasing respect and the attention of more than one scout. He was surrounded by most of the young men of the town, laughing and joking, his father hovering at his elbow.  


“Thank you kindly, Mrs. Smithbauer,” Benton said as he held out his cup to be refilled. “You must be so happy for Mark.”  


“We are thrilled.” Mark’s mom paused for a moment to gaze fondly at her son. “It’s been hard having him so far away but it’s worth it to see his dream come true.”  


Benton looked across the room at his friend, remembering. “It’s all he’s ever wanted. He told me the first day I met him that he’d play professional hockey one day.”  


“You were a good friend to him, Benton. All that practicing!” She beamed at him. “I hear congratulations are in order for you, too. Your grandmother tells me you will be starting at Depot soon. Your family must be very proud.”  


“Thank you, you’re very kind,” Benton said carefully. What his grandparents felt was resignation, disappointed that their only grandchild had chosen the RCMP rather than taking over management of the library or bending his fine intellect to an academic career. How his father felt about his choice was anybody’s guess; there had been no response to Benton’s letter informing him of his acceptance. Perhaps when his current patrol ended. Mrs. Smithbauer squeezed his elbow before she was lured away by a group of chattering neighbors and Benton resumed his solitary place against the wall and observed his friend.  


Mark had changed, of course. He was taller than Benton now, broad in the shoulder and his powerful thighs strained the denim of his jeans. But what Benton noticed most was the change in his demeanor. Mark’s face had lost the boyishness Benton remembered – that was to be expected – and it was obvious his nose had been broken again at least once. But it was more than that. Mark was undoubtedly happy but – Benton was stunned to realize – he wore the face of someone whose joy had become a job.  


“Come on, Ben, come on,” Mark would challenge him, his irrepressible grin wide, and steal the puck from under Benton’s stick and pelt down the length of the pond. Benton would roar his outrage and tear after him. Mark gave no quarter in hockey and he wouldn’t let Benton give one either. “Come on, Ben, come on,” Mark would beg imploringly when Benton would mumble about chores and homework and “one more face-off” would become “one more face-off” until Benton’s grandmother would fetch him and march him home for his supper. “Come on, Ben, come on,” Mark would whisper in the dark of the Smithbauer barn while hot, adolescent hands would push aside clothing and grasp erections and Benton would press clumsy boyish kisses to Mark’s cool, chapped lips and spill into Mark’s fist.  


“Jesus, Ben, you’re not a Mountie yet.” Benton was jolted out of his memories with a start when Mark gave his shoulder a playful push. Benton blushed; Mark was grinning at him as if he knew what Benton had been thinking and – Dear God – he’d been standing at parade rest. How ridiculous. “I’ve had about as much as I can stand of this party. Walk with me?”  


Benton nodded and they stepped out into the endless twilight of Inuvik only days past the solstice. He struggled to control his unruly libido; grown-up Mark was every bit as attractive as the boy Benton remembered and was undoubtedly more sophisticated after his years in the city.  


“Edmonton, Mark.” Benton groped for conversation. “You must be so excited. Everyone says they’re the team to watch.”  


“Yeah,” Mark said. “I mean, they’re a great team. Gretzky is – fuck, Ben – Gretzky is unbelievable. I’ll be at Wichita to start, of course.”  


“You’re a good player, Mark, and a hard worker. You’ll get there. They’re not going to let you languish in juniors for long.”  


“Thanks.” Mark sighed. “I’ve missed you, you know. It would have been great if you could have gone down to Moose Jaw with me.”  


Benton fought to keep color from flooding his cheeks, touched that his friend had missed him and not wanting Mark to see how much that meant to him. “My grandparents could not have supported me so far away,” he said, perhaps a little too primly. He softened his voice. “Can you imagine me in the big city? I’d be lost. A fish out of water.”  


“Regina is a big city,” Mark reminded him pointedly.  


“True,” Benton admitted. “But that’s only for six months and then I intend to request a posting to the north. They’re always short of officers willing to serve in remote locations. I don’t expect to ever live anywhere else.”  


“And continue the Fraser legacy. Your dad must be bursting his shiny brass buttons.”  


“I’m sure he will. When he notices,” Benton said, a little more acidly than he’d intended. Mark said nothing but bumped shoulders with him in commiseration. The failings of Sgt. Robert Fraser RCMP as a father were old, old territory between them and no comment was necessary.  


Benton was not surprised when they turned up the lane to the Smithbauer’s. Mark slipped into the house and came out with two bottles of icy beer and they continued down to the pond and flopped down in the sparse grass next to the water. Benton frowned a little when Mark handed him one of the bottles but relented when Mark teased, “Do I have to offer up a toast to the Queen?”  


“It’s unseemly to offer a toast to the Queen with bottled beer,” Benton giggled. _”Chimo,”_ he toasted and they tapped their bottles and drank, Mark draining his bottle in one long swallow. He was still for a moment, then wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and then raised his eyes to Benton.  


“It’s absurd that anyone so proper should giggle like you do.” He set his bottle aside and raised cool, damp fingers to stroke along Ben’s jaw bone. “Ben.”  


Behind him, Benton was dimly aware of his own bottle falling over, beer foaming into the grass, as he leaned into Mark’s touch. “Mark,” he whispered and then he couldn’t say another word because Mark was kissing him.  


Good heavens, Mark had learned how to kiss. Mark took what he wanted but he gave just as generously, and it had been four long years since Benton had been touched like this and he was too hungry for it and too busy keeping up to worry about where Mark might have improved his skill. He opened his mouth when Mark’s tongue demanded entrance, then chased it back into Mark’s mouth, kissing him deeply. Mark tasted like malt and hops and a remembered sweetness that was Mark alone. Benton didn’t know if he could ever get enough.  


He tumbled backward when Mark pushed him and pulled Mark’s body on top of his as they fell, still kissing. God, yes, this was what he wanted, Mark’s powerful body holding him down. He pulled away from Mark’s lips with a loud groan when their erections rubbed and curved his hands around Mark’s buttocks until he found the angle he wanted and pumped their hips together, lost in delicious friction.  


“Ben. _Ben._ ” Benton realized in his lust haze that Mark was trying to get his attention. “Too many clothes, come on, get naked, okay?” God help him, it took a minute for that to sink in and then Benton thought of all that wonderful, decadent _skin_ and he gasped, “Yes,” in a voice that no longer sounded like his own. He pulled the tails of his shirt apart which sent buttons flying unnoticed into the grass, shimmied out of his jeans and broke one of the laces trying to remove his hikers.  


Then Mark was on him again, gloriously naked Mark, all firm muscle and smooth skin and strong arms and wet, hard penis. He wanted to touch everything but Mark had other ideas. He lined their erections up again and stroked them against each other. And this was all new sensation for Benton, how the rub of pubic hair added to the friction and how pre-ejaculate eased the way. Then Mark stretched full length on top of Benton and he took Mark’s hips in his hands and found a rhythm and pulled them together, over and over. And Mark was saying, “Yes, yes,” and Benton was chanting, “Mark, Mark, Mark,” and then Mark said, “Come on, Ben, come on,” and Benton was lost in climax, shooting between them, and Mark stroked three more times against Benton’s slick belly and he came with a cry that was almost a sob.  


They didn’t move for several minutes. Benton tried to catch his breath and absently caressed Mark’s back, dreading the moment when Mark would have to pull away. Then Mark whispered, “Jesus,” and kissed him, a kiss that was wonderful and terrible because Benton could feel it putting a period to their childhood and perhaps their friendship and there would be no going back.  


Mark rolled off him then and fumbled for his t-shirt, offering it to Benton for a cleanup. Benton wiped his belly and pulled on his clothes and searched for something to say to this friend who had meant so much and who he might never see again.  


“When …when do you leave?”  


Mark stared at him and Benton could already feel the miles stretching between them. “Day after tomorrow. Training camp doesn’t start until August but I need to meet the team. Get settled. You know.”  


Benton nodded and got to his feet. “Your parents will be home soon. I should be going.”  


Mark looked away. “I know,” he said and the air between them seemed charged with the things they were not saying. Then Mark stood and took Benton into his arms, his strong hand curling around Benton’s neck and pressing it into his shoulder, and somehow being held like this was more intimate than anything else.  


“Remember to have a life, Ben,” Mark said, and his voice was trembling. “Make friends. Have fun. Fall in love. You’re not your old man and there’s more to life than just being a Mountie.”  


“I will,” Benton whispered solemnly into Mark’s neck and blinked back tears. He hoped that was a promise he could keep. “Enjoy your success, Mark. You’ve worked hard and you’ve earned it.”  


“Piece of cake, Ben, piece of cake.” Benton was envious of Mark’s easy confidence. “Hockey is all I’m ever going to need.”  


Mark squeezed him tight once more and they parted reluctantly. Then with one final press of hands Benton turned and started up the lane toward home.  


He steeled his resolve and he did not look back.

 

End


End file.
